The Lucky Cat

by L. M. Somerton

  * * * *

  “Landry, where are you hiding?” Mr. Lao shouted.

  “Peace is shattered,” Landry muttered, emerging from behind a skyscraper of furniture, which had a massive oak banqueting table at the base, topped with a walnut sideboard, which in turn supported a British arts and crafts blanket box and a mahogany dressing table mirror. “I’m here, Mr. L. I was dusting.” He brandished his telescopic feather duster topped with a crown of rainbow fluff, a Christmas gift from Mr. Lao the previous year. Dust motes caught in a shaft of sunlight swirled in the draft he created, swinging his duster like a cheerleader’s baton.

  “Good boy. Dust is the monster in the fight between good and evil. Did you sell anything while I was gone?” He polished his spectacles then peered around the store.

  “Sure, it’s been a good day. I cleared two pictures, a silver photograph frame, that pair of steamer chairs…”

  “The ones with the woodworm?”

  “Yep. The customer decided the holes added to the character of the pieces and I reassured her that any actual worms had evacuated those chairs somewhere around 1952. I also moved on that tandem bicycle to a couple planning to take it to California for a vacation, some costume jewelry and that hideous green jardinière that could have been a prop in The Addams Family.”

  “Naughty boy! You should be more respectful of the antiques, though you’re right about that jardinière. It was a monstrosity and I’d given up hope of ever selling it. Who bought it?”

  “A high school drama teacher wanted it as a prop in a production of The Importance of Being Earnest. I gave him a hefty discount.”

  “You mean you gave it away?”

  “I…uh…maybe?”

  Mr. Lao grinned. “I count it a win. I was getting to the point when I would have paid someone to take it.”

  “I knew you’d want to donate it. He offered to bring it back once they were finished with the production, but I told him to raffle it or something. It only got quiet in the last half-hour. Oh, and in bigger news, we also got a visit from the cops this morning, not long after you left. Some detective looking for stolen goods.”

  “I hope you told him that this is an honest establishment. It’s taken me fifty years to build a good reputation…”

  Landry tuned out the next few minutes as Mr. Lao went through his familiar diatribe about how he’d started the business from scratch with a few bits of bric-a-brac and twenty dollars. “How about you, did you have a good time with your club cronies?”

  “Sure. Good food, good company… But we’re all getting older, Landry. One day you’ll find out what it’s like to creak every time you move. All everyone talks about is their latest ailment and half of them repeat the same thing over again because they’ve already forgotten what they said the first time. At least I’m not losing my marbles just yet.” He wandered across to the cash register, pressing the button to release the drawer. He pulled out a fifty then brought it over to Landry. “You worked hard today, covering for me. Buy yourself some of those fancy coffees you slobber over.”

  It was the closest thing to praise Mr. Lao ever gave. “Wow, thanks Mr. L. That’s fantastic… Wait, what’s the catch?” Landry flapped the bill in Mr. Lao’s direction.

  “Why do you have to be so suspicious all the time? You should accept gifts with grace.” Mr. Lao scowled.

  “Experience. You’re up to something, boss. I get fair pay. Bonuses are suspect. The last time you gave me extra, you sent me to deliver that cast-iron cauldron and I almost dislocated a shoulder lugging it across town.”

  “Fine, you pick up some tips from that detective this morning?”

  Landry’s face heated and he examined the threadbare tapestry hanging on the nearest wall.

  “Oh, I see… Mr. Detective was hot stuff,” Mr. Lao crowed. “You wanna get in his pants?”

  “I am not discussing this with you. It’s more embarrassing than when my dad attempted to give me a safe gay sex talk, and quit changing the subject. What are you up to?”

  “I have an invitation for an all-expenses-paid trip to Hong Kong. Eddie Chang is heading back there to sort out funeral arrangements for his father and he’s asked me to go with him to help out. Chang Senior was a hundred and one and loaded. I’ll have time for a few buying expeditions while I’m there.”

  “Sounds exciting.” Landry was a little envious. “Who are you going to bring in to manage this place while you’re gone?” Landry didn’t mind working with other people. Mr. Lao had drafted in various family members to help over the three years Landry had worked for him.

  “Actually, I was thinking you might like to do it.”

  “Me?” Landry gaped.

  “Am I talking to any other employees at this moment?”

  “You don’t have any other employees.”

  “Not the point. Do you think you could manage on your own for three weeks? You have more than enough experience now. You could close for an hour at lunchtime, maybe a bit earlier than usual in the evenings.”

  “But… I don’t know what to say.” That Mr. Lao would trust him with his precious store meant a lot to Landry.

  “‘Yes’ would be good. I want my trip.”

  “Yes!”

  “No buying anything.”

  “No, sir.”

  “No stashing coffee in the kitchen.”

  “Pinky swear.”

  “No necking with hot cops behind the bookshelves.”

  “Well…” Landry giggled as Mr. Lao gave him a swift clip around the ear. “I won’t let you down, Mr. L., I promise.”

  “I know you won’t, Landry. You’re a good boy. Sometimes. You can finish for the day now. I’ll help these customers then close up. Go spend your coffee money.” An elderly couple headed in their direction.

  “Wait, when are you leaving?”

  “Sunday.”

  “This Sunday? As in the day after tomorrow? I think I need a brown paper bag.” Landry felt a sudden need for hard liquor.

  “No hyperventilating in the store.”

  “Is that rule three hundred fifty-four?” Landry ducked as Mr. Lao made another swipe for him.

  “Excuse me.” Mr. Lao addressed the customers walking toward him, who looked a little startled. “It’s hard to find good staff these days.”

  “Hey!” Affronted, Landry scowled. “See you tomorrow, Mr. L.” He grinned to show the customers that all was well then made his way to the back of the shop where a doorway granted access to a narrow hall. There were two storerooms, a tiny kitchen and bathroom back there, as well as a set of stairs leading to the first and second floors. Mr. Lao had an apartment on the first floor and Landry a much smaller one on the second. He loved that to get to work he just had to roll out of bed, shower then trot down the stairs. A one-minute commute suited him.

  At the end of a long day, the stairs were a drag. He hauled his tired ass up them, counting the steps with the creaky boards. The landing outside Mr. Lao’s door smelled of incense and made Landry’s sneeze. “Damn it! Every time.”

  It was a relief to get into his own small but cozy home, furnished with unwanted stock from the store. As a result, each room was a mishmash of styles. Landry had added a few touches of his own. He was addicted to the Indian cushion covers that his friend Prisha Midal, from the grandly titled Eastern Emporium across the street, imported. They were decorated with tiny mirrors and gold embroidery, and came in every color of the rainbow. Prisha gave him a healthy discount and had even donated a few faulty ones for free. In return, Landry referred customers to her as often as he could. The Emporium didn’t stock antiques but did have a great range of hand-carved furniture and some amazing rugs that complemented the pieces that Landry sold. Most of the businesses on the street recommended each other—they all benefited and it added to the nice community feel of the area.

  Landry didn’t bother to lock his door. He never did. The shop had decent security and he couldn’t imagine why anyone would bother to rob his place when there w
as a shop full of goods below him. He took a quick shower then changed into comfy sweats and a Harvard T-shirt that had been a gift from one of his brothers. His tiny galley kitchen didn’t have space for a fancy coffee maker so he made up a French press, getting his usual buzz of pleasure when he pushed the plunger down to squish the grounds. He had a brownie left from earlier in the day so he settled on the couch with his laptop, a mug of coffee and his treat and proceeded to research antique crime. Just in case Mr. Hottie shows up tomorrow night. “Who am I kidding? He wanted something from me and knew the best way of getting it. There’s no way a guy that perfect is going to be into me.” Landry sighed. He ought to give Gage the benefit of the doubt. He had seemed interested and Landry didn’t think anyone could fake that kind of dominance. He’d wager good money that the man was kinky through and through. He wriggled at the thought of Gage delivering a spanking with those big hands. He wondered what Gage might be into, whether they might be compatible.

  Switching his mind away from bondage and CBT, Landry immersed himself in a website giving details of the biggest heists in the art world, wondering at the value of some of the paintings. When he got bored with his research, Netflix provided entertainment in the form of the Hitchcock film To Catch a Thief, a film about a cat burglar starring Cary Grant and Grace Kelly. By the time Landry crawled into bed that night, he was picturing a masked Gage, dressed in black, robbing the rich then returning home to express his euphoria by pounding Landry’s ass. He eyed the shelf next to his bed, which housed his collection of broken and battered lucky cats. Perhaps they’ll bring me some man luck, not that they’ve been very successful so far. He snuggled beneath the covers and closed his eyes. No counting sheep for me tonight. Bring on the dreams.

  Chapter Three

  For Landry, Saturday was always the least enjoyable day at Treasure Trove because it was stupid busy. Mr. Lao was a traditionalist and didn’t open on a Sunday, so anyone who couldn’t make it to the shop during the week made it their business to get there on a Saturday. Regular clients were supplemented with tourists, curious passers-by and general time wasters hunting a bargain they were never going to find. Mr. Lao knew his stuff. He was never going to miss a hallmark concealed by layers of dirt or mistake a genuine artwork for a fake. He had a feel for old things that Landry hoped to learn over time. For now, it was his job to fetch and carry, make nice with the customers and keep things clean and, if not tidy, only moderately hazardous. Saturday was bruise day, when every sharp-cornered lump of wood connected with his shins, hips and arms. By closing, Landry was tired, aching and grumpy. Mr. Lao had left him to lock up alone, saying it would be good practice for the next three weeks, so at precisely one minute past eight, Landry ventured onto a fogbound street to lower the security shutters.

  He shivered as the damp air soaked into his thin T-shirt. The atmosphere was eerie with visibility so poor. The streetlamps and brake lights on passing cars had softened halos, their glow hardly penetrating the swirling gray mist. Fuck, this would make a good setting for a horror movie. Landry grappled with the long pole he needed to pull down the rolling shutter. The metal hook on the end of the pole wasn’t that big and Landry had to squint to see the hole he was supposed to get it through. He cursed as he missed for the third time. He wouldn’t be much use at fending off a horror movie villain if he couldn’t even manage to bring the shutters down.

  “Do you need a hand with that?”

  Landry jumped about a foot into the air and dropped the pole, which banged him on the temple then got tangled around his legs, bringing him to his knees.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck. And ow.” He rubbed at his head. “Do you always sneak up on people like that?”

  Gage loomed over him, grinning. “On your knees already. I knew you’d be glad to see me. And I didn’t sneak, you weren’t paying attention.” He grabbed the pole, hooked the shutter the first time and pulled it down in one smooth motion.

  “Typical.” Landry scrambled to his feet. He padlocked the shutters. “I would have got it next time.”

  “Sure you would. I’ll carry the pole for you—you’re likely to brain someone with it. Probably yourself.”

  “I’m quite capable of holding my own pole, thank you very much.” Landry made a grab for it.

  “I’m sure you are.” Gage snorted with laughter and Landry realized what he’d said. “You can give me a demonstration later.” He kept hold of the pole.

  “Oh my God. You’re still in high school. There was me thinking I was the immature one.”

  “Sorry…” Gage could barely speak for laughing. “Are you ready to go out?”

  “Do I look like I’m ready?” Landry stood in the middle of the sidewalk, hands on hips. “I finished work about two minutes ago.”

  “In this fog, I can’t tell.” Gage peered at him. “You are a bit dusty.” He picked something from Landry’s hair. “And you have a pet spider inhabiting your mop.” He waved a few wisps of cobweb in Landry’s direction.

  Landry danced around, batting at his head. “Is it gone? Is it gone?”

  “I never actually saw a spider…just cobwebs.”

  “You…you…” Landry stamped his foot. “You’re unbelievable.”

  “And you’re a brat.” Gage gave him a swift smack on the ass. “Shower. I booked our table for nine.”

  Landry debated the wisdom of telling Gage to fuck off, but curiosity won out. His ass smarted from one blow and he wanted more of that. Gage was infuriating but intriguing. He didn’t back off from Landry’s attitude—in fact, it seemed to attract him more. “We have to go around back.”

  “I thought you’d finished work.”

  “I have, but I live up there.” Landry pointed at the building. “Did that not come up in your background checks?”

  “Probably… Must have missed that page of the report.”

  Gage, still carrying the pole, followed Landry down the side of the building. A gate in the boundary wall led to a small yard, stacked with terracotta pots of varying sizes. There was a barred door into the building between a pile of wooden crates and a plant of undetermined origin in a glazed urn.

  “You should have more lighting back here. It’s not safe.”

  “The only thing likely to jump me out here,” Landry said, “is a rat. In this part of town, they grow to the size of wombats.”

  “Wombats?”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t think we have wombats in the US.”

  “Well, we should. They’re cute. To get back to the point, I’ve never had a problem locking up. This area is safe-ish, and isn’t it a bit too soon to be getting overprotective?”

  “No.”

  “Oookay then.” Landry unlocked the back door. Gage was so close behind him. He stumbled inside but Gage caught him, preventing a fall. “You can let go now.”

  “I don’t think so.” Gage put the pole in a corner then shoved Landry against the nearest wall, pushing a knee between his thighs, forcing his legs apart. He grabbed Landry’s wrists, holding them together above his head. He kissed him and there was nothing Landry could, or wanted, to do to stop him. Gage tasted of coffee. His stubble scraped Landry’s face as he probed with his tongue, gripping Landry’s hair so he couldn’t move. Finally, Gage let go and Landry took a couple of deep, shuddering breaths.

  “I thought I should say hello properly.”

  Landry distracted himself by locking the door. The best kiss he’d ever experienced had left him shaken and uncertain. Part of him wanted to drag Gage up the stairs so they could make use of a convenient flat surface—another part wanted to run. “You should know, I don’t put out on a first date.” He stomped up the stairs.

  “Well, it’s good that this is our second date then.”

  “How do you work that out?” Landry stripped off his sweaty T-shirt as soon as he got inside his apartment, heading for the bathroom.

  “I bought you coffee and baked goods yesterday. That constitutes a date.”

  “And wh
ere is that written, Gage’s Guide to Dating? Um…I don’t need your help to get clean, thank you.” Landry tried to shut the door but Gage stuck a foot in the way.

  “You’re already flaunting your hot little bod. I think I should get to see the rest of it.”

  “Out.” Landry scowled. “Or do I need to use my safe word already?”

  “Good to know you have one.” Gage grinned but withdrew his foot. Landry slammed the door shut, wishing he could lock it, but he’d never bothered to fit a bolt. He stripped off the rest of his clothes, dumped them in the hamper then dove behind the shower curtain, just in case. That meant he couldn’t escape the cold spray from the shower. Usually he had to wait a few minutes for the cranky plumbing to produce hot water. He yelped.

  “You okay in there?” Gage sounded smug.

  Landry gritted his teeth, picturing Gage leaning against the wall right outside the bathroom. “I’m fine. Go make yourself a drink or something. You’re upsetting my equilibrium. I’m sure you can find the kitchen, and work out what lives where, on your own.”

  Gage’s laughter faded as he headed away. Landry tilted his head back, letting the spray batter his face. What the hell am I getting myself into? He gripped his rigid cock. And you’re so not helping. He braced himself against the chipped tile. A few quick tugs and Landry sank his teeth into his lower lip to stop himself from shouting as he came in a thigh-trembling gush of relief and euphoria. He clenched his ass muscles, craving the pressure of a thick cock lodged in his passage. He wondered if Gage was big everywhere. God, I hope so.

  “Landry, you are such a slut.” After a few deep, cleansing breaths, Landry summoned the will to apply shampoo and shower gel. He rinsed, turned off the water then shook his head like a soggy Labrador. Groping for a towel, he realized he hadn’t brought fresh clothes in with him, which meant either putting his dirty things back on or making a run for his bedroom. After giving his dripping hair a vigorous rub, he opted for the latter. Gripping the corners of his towel tight, he pushed the door open a crack. There was no sign of Gage so he shimmied around the door then tiptoed toward his bedroom, just a few feet away.